


the quiet is his friend

by Dreaming_of_a_White_Fox



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: ASL, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Character Death, Deaf Peter Parker, Depression, Gen, Original Plot, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is 15, Pre-Slash, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Wade Wilson and Tony Stark are working together, at least as original as fanfiction can get, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-01-08 01:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12244656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_of_a_White_Fox/pseuds/Dreaming_of_a_White_Fox
Summary: The quiet is his friend.OR: tony stark is his new dad, wade wilson is his weird uncle figure all of the sudden, and he can’t be spiderman without some overly-advanced hearing aids.





	1. Page

**Author's Note:**

> another fun story idea. im liking it and ill be posting more if feedback is good. enjoy and thanks for reading.

_Have you seen where my jacket is?_ Aunt May signs.

  Peter, looking at her a watching for what she’s “saying”, just shrugs and shakes his head. No, he has not. The last he’d seen it, it’d been sitting on the window sill—because there’s an openable spot to sit there. People can put things in there if they’d like, though there are rat traps and rat holes in there.

  He watches as her chest expands and deflates from sighing stressfully. He can see it in her brow. It’s obviously gonna be an important night, since the jacket is rarely brought out in the first place. It’s more of an overcoat, though, and Ben had bought it for her long before his death.

 _What’s it for?_ He asks with hands. ASL is useful to a deaf person.

  She looks at him and smiles. _Did you forget to put in your ear pods?_

  Pete puts a hand to his ear, still a bit wet from the soul-saving hot shower he’d taken a few moments ago. Oh. He did.

  He makes a face, and in return she gives him another face. She points to the direction of his room. He makes way, and when he gets his, as Aunt May calls them, _ear pods_ in, he can hear some music thrumming from the neighbor’s speakers. It’s muffled as usual, but leaning in, he can get a higher sense of what the song is. It’s chillstep, with a heavy beat and a relaxing female voice.

  “Peter,” May says when she walks to his room. She finds him lying flat on his stomach, his ear pressed to the floor. He’s just listening, and it makes her smile. It stays even when he looks up at her. “Do you mind going to the dry cleaner’s to pick up my dress? I need it for tonight.”

  “What’s happening?” he asks.

  “I told you about a long time ago, didn’t I?” she inquires. “It’s this…parent night thing. Mr. Stark invited me to it. For your _internship_.”

  He hums, the vibrations reaching out to his arms. “Oh, yeah. Like an orientation…only for the adults,” he concludes amiably. “Okay. What time do you want me back?”

  “Well, I expect you to be back within the hour,” she tells him, signing the time she wants him to be back—which is around 3:30 PM. It’s only 2:45 PM. He can make it. The dry cleaner isn’t that far anyways.

  “Okay,” he replies. He pushes himself up, smiling at his Aunt. She suddenly stretches her arms out, and pulls him into a hug. “Um…what’s this?”

  Her hand rubs against his back soothingly. “I’m proud of you, alright? You’re a good, young man, and the path you’re going down will try to stop you,” she states. Her aged wisdom is prominent in her voice. “I hope you go places, sweetie. Just be safe. I love you.”

  Peter only feels slight confusion before he returns the embrace and buries his chin into the nape of her neck. “Yeah,” he simply responds. “Thanks.”

  His shoulder feels a bit wet when she parts, but if she were crying, his ears were too muffled and she turned away too quick for him to tell. He isn’t sure how to feel—but he’s getting ready to leave, and when he closes the front door behind his heel, he doesn’t get to say bye to her because she isn’t in sight.

* * *

   “Hey-o, kid!”

  Peter jumps, probably a bit over dramatic in his leap of fear, as Tony Stark’s voice foams in through his ears, booming and surprisingly clear. He lets a tense breath go as he relaxes, and waves his greeting. He isn’t sure if he should be concerned, jubilant, or professional about the sudden visit. So he just smiles.

  “Oh, stop. You look constipated,” Tony says. He drapes an arm over the youth’s shoulders. He notes the dress, though. “Ah, what’s that?”

  “May’s dress,” he replies. “Something for tonight. She’s going to the orientation.”

“Sounds pretty important,” he says offhandedly.

  Pete tries to tell him about it, but he’s interrupted again.

  “How’s the web stuff going, kiddo? Is it any good?”

  “Um. Yeah,” he says.

  “…Anything else other than that?”

  “Huh? Oh. No.”

  “Ah, c’mon. What’s bothering you? You’ve spoken two full sentences to me so far. The rest were words that might as well be grunts with some…vowels,” he says.

  “Sorry,” he replies, somber and thoughtful about what he should have to say. “I just keep remembering what everything sounds like.”

  “It’s been nearly ten years since you’ve gone completely deaf, hasn’t it?” Tony says with his own train of thought and contemplation. “Hm…do you want to fix that?”

  “What, are you gonna give me ear implants now?”

  “Of course not, that’s too experimental and close to that noggin of yours,” the consultant says humorously. “I’ve been working on a little something for you.” He stops walking, and so does Peter. He pulls a small, fun-size box from his pocket. “Here. Open it.”

  Peter hooks his aunt’s dress on his arm, taking the little something Tony’s made for him. He is almost hesitant, but then he opens it to find new hearing aids—or _ear pods_. A mirthful and incorrect way of calling them. His eyes widen. They’re clear, and look a bit more comfortable, and a bit more operable. “What the heck is _this_?”

  “New hearing aids,” Tony says. He chuckles. “I almost became an advanced ear doctor just to make these for you, kid-o.”

  He losses his speech.

  “They’re…a bit experimental, but I’ve had volunteers test them out. They say they can hear more than vowels and stuff, like you all normally hear. Y’know?”

  Peter’s eyes water up a little. “W-wow.”

  Tony smiles. “Try them on.”

  He nods eagerly, pulling out his left ear pod. There’s a daft void in one ear very suddenly, and it throws him off, but he doesn’t mind it long enough. He slips the new Stark Industries hearing aid.

  “What can you hear, Peter?”

  His heart lurches and his face runs red with excitement. He can hear so much more than what he remembers there ever existing. He can hear the sharper, breath-induced words coming from Tony’s mouth, and the honks of New York’s horns are ten times clearer. He puts the other one in not so long after, and the world feels…brighter. He feels more present. _Connected_.

  “Pete—”

  “Ssss.” He could hear that pitch. He could never hear the S’s before.

  “What?”

  “It’s…it’s amazing,” he murmurs. “It’s all so _clear_. It doesn’t sound like a thin wall.”

  Tony grins and squeezes his shoulder. “Good, I was hoping they’d work,” he says. “No ringing?”

   He shakes his head. Hearing Tony’s voice so clearly feels like a blessing. He almost feels obligated to become his slave. “Thank you so much,” he says tearfully. “This is…this is amazing. I dunno how I’ll repay you.”

  “No need,” Tony says. “Just keep wearing them, help me test them out. I want to make it as available as possible, high quality and everything.”

  Peter grins thankfully and lets out a laugh for the sake of laughing. He can hear himself _better_. So, so much better. It’s not a deep voice, but it’s still got that low rhythm he’s always craved to hear.

  And then he sees the watch.

  It’s 3:18 PM.

  “Oh, crap!”

  “What? Curfew?”

  “Something like that,” Peter says, starting to move away with hurried steps. “Sorry, I gotta blast. May wants this dress before the clock hits thirty! Bye!”

  Tony just smirks and waves his farewell, watching with endeared eyes as Peter runs from the middle of the alleyway and back out in the wild streets of New York City with that red dress of May’s.

  “Nice one, dad!” a voice suddenly calls. “Son’s happy and everything. Congrats!” Slow, dry-hearted clapping follows, and while the man in the iron suit jumps a little in paranoid surprise, he recognizes the voice.

  He turns his face towards the red and black mask. “He isn’t my son,” he tells Deadpool.

  The anti-hero giggles, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “ _Really_ , now? So you wouldn’t mind if I became _besties_ with him?”

  “I think we all would. What thirty-year-old man would ask me of all people to become besties with a fifteen-year-old?”

  “He’s fifteen? He looks twenty-one.”

  Tony rolls his eyes, turning and walking in the opposite direction Peter had dashed off from. “Keep your hands off, Wade,” he says shortly. “Don’t touch him.”

  The immortal only shrugs it off. Tony just nearly feels satisfied, but then Deadpool is right next to his side humming a tune from Queen’s song. He’s idle, and he clearly wants something.

  So he sighs. “What do you want?”

  “Me? Wanting something? Never!” he exclaims. “No, no! I _need_ something. That’s completely different.”

  He sighs. “And what is that, exactly? It better not be something ridiculous like a huge chimichanga or something, because if it is I will be taking it off the market. You’ll be buying black market chimichangas instead.”

  Deadpool’s head rolls in harmony with his eyes. “No, it’s never about the chimichanga. Only I can handle the chimichanga, _sir_ ,” he says with slight mock. “It’s something else.”

  He instantly takes notice of the change in tone. He stops walking and turns his face towards the merc. “What’s wrong?”

  He leans forward a little to tell a story. “Okay, so—”

  “Tell me the _short_ version.”

  Deadpool’s jaw slightly hangs before it closes as he rethinks his story. He sighs, bummed out but thinking of a new way to tell it. “There’s this gang, right? In New York. They come from Detroit, and they migrated over here,” he says. “Have you ever heard of that happening?”

  “No…not really,” Tony states. “It’s not really my area of expertise.”

  “Neither for me, but I know when gangs want something,” he continues. “And they want whatever is in New York pretty badly. Gangs don’t just _move_.”

  “Well, I would think so. Have you got anything _useful_ to tell me, though?”

  Deadpool sighs. “I was getting to that,” he says informatively. “I’ve been putting my ers out in the street. Apparently, there’s this…new poison that’s been made from _mutant blood_. It’s been proven to be lethal and extremely expensive. This gang from Detroit almost has the money for it.”

  Tony narrows his eyes thoughtfully. He nods and struts up to his car, contently stepping and sitting in it as Happy keeps the door securely open. “I’ll look into it,” he says, “see what I can pull from my sources. In the meantime, I expect there to be no trouble.”

  “Ah, whatever do you mean, there will be no trouble whatsoever,” Deadpool drawls out. “I mean, it’s not like you’re my superior or anything.”

  Tony smiles. “You know I am.”

  The Merc with a Mouth just huffs, and a few seconds later, the car leaves him, with his suit and swords, in an alleyway. He sighs in boredom, slightly piqued at a sudden thought as he watches Tony leave. He’s fairly interested in the kid—the “not my son” of Tony’s. It’s an interesting thing to explore. Hopefully.

* * *

   “Hey, Aunt May!” Peter calls as he enters. Her voice is one of the few things in life he’s always been excited to actually hear as clear as he currently does. It’s like talking and hearing through a blanket. Still muffled, but it _works_ , and that’s what counts more than anything like a prototype. “May? You here?”

  The shower starts, but she doesn’t anything to confirm that she heard him, so he shrugs it and walks into her bedroom. He sets the dress down, and steps next to the bedroom’s bathroom where she is. Steam floats out from under the door, and he knows carefully. “May,” he calls. “I’m gonna go out with Ned, I got something to show him. And then I’m gonna show you because it’s awesome. I’ll be back at around eight. Love ya.”

  And he leaves. He finds it a bit weird that she isn’t responding but he isn’t too bothered by it; she thinks and worries, and he knows best that silence means one or two of those things. He exits the apartment complex with a slight skip in his step, but it disappears when a stranger with _horrendously_ burned skin, in a sketchy ass hood, is staring straight at him. He instantly stops walking and gives him a frowny look, because he’s staring straight at him. “Um…do you need something…?” he asks hesitantly.

  “Ah, no, not really,” he replies. He smiles and steps up to the fifteen-year-old. “I’m Wade, a friend of Mr. Stark’s. Well, kind of. At least. I call him a friend but he calls me his subordinate. I don’t see a difference.” He chuckles and extendeds a gloved hand of what might be a warm welcome. Peter isn’t betting on it, and he doesn’t take it. “Alright. Well, anyways, he didn’t send me. I sent myself. I was curious about the kind of relationship ya’ll had, you know? It seemed interesting because he’s never been that… _fatherly_ type.”

  Peter looks at him up and down. “Yeah, so? I’m fifteen, he’s like—what, forty-five? Fifty? He’s told me he feels obligated to take care of me before. I don’t really need it.”

  Wade smirks. “Ah, the teen years. All the dank days.”

  His scrutinizing expression doesn’t get any better. In fact, he starts to grimace. “Okay. Who are you, exactly?”

  “I’m…a merc,” he explains awkwardly. “You know what that is?”

  “Someone who does dirty work for money.”

  “Perfect, you know me so well already! Anyways, Tony hires me on and off, but that’s formally. I owe him a favor. I don’t get paid.” He shrugs. “Inconvenient and inconsistent of the writer, but you know what? That’s fine.”

  Peter raises his brow. “The what?”

  “Never mind, that derails the whole scene, okay? Get back on track,” he snaps, pointing an adult-y finger at the youth. “Moving on. I’m a merc, and sometimes Tony pulls in that big favor string. Now he’s gonna owe me a favor. Because I don’t like owing favors.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When was the last time you saw your aunt?” he asks.

  Peter frowns. “The…last…I’m sorry, what the hell are you talking about? She’s taking a shower right now,” he says with a shorted tone.

  “No, no—I mean, when was the last time you _saw_ her? With your eyes?”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asks, nervous and feeling a bit scared.

  Wade suddenly pulls out a gun. “I dunno, let’s go check it out,” he says ominously.

  Peter feels the world around him become sensually brighter as adrenalin and fear force him to move. He pushes the gun down, gritting his teeth and shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! No!” he says as quickly as his mouth can. “Absolutely not!”

  “Your Aunt May is in danger, kid, and danger usually involves guns,” Wade points out, slightly glaring at him.

  “Okay, yeah, I’ve figured that much, but…c’mon. There are _cameras_.”

  “They have CCTV, we have Tony Stark. Is that a problem?”

  “They also have the _law enforcement_ ,” he snaps, hushing his voice when a group of familiar female faces pass by. “I kinda don’t wanna go to prison.”

  He sighs irritably, tucking the gun in his pants. “Fine, we gotta hurry.”

  Peter snaps back to it and nods hurriedly, scurrying back inside the building with Wade not too far behind him. The elevator ride is incredibly awkward, and it doesn’t help that there’s idle elevator music. Peter isn’t sure how he should feel about that, because he feels some sort of twisted laugh bubble up in his throat.

  “You’re _laughing_?” Wade asks.

  “I’m nervous,” he murmurs simply, his hands balling in fists multiple times before it reaches the sixth floor. Peter just nearly runs out, but Wade stops him. “What?”

  “Let me go first, okay? Best if I do,” he says, and he doesn’t leave any room for debate as he rushes out before the youth.

  Their apartment door is broken open. Peter’s eyes get a bit wide with alarm, because he’d locked the door like normal. Wade motions for him to stay back, and right when he peers his head inside, Peter bursts into the apartment.

  It’s a horrifying sight. He sees it, and instantly, he feels the world sway and becoming a thing of the background. All he can focus on is this one sight—it’s red, and it’s everywhere, and he can’t find his breath. He shouts in fear when Wade grabs his elbow, yanking him out of the apartment. His feet are heavy weights, and he’s stumbling, speechless, and feeling a bit lightheaded. He doesn’t understand.

  Why was his aunt _dead_?

  “C’mon!” Wade’s ushered voice cuts in. “We gotta go! Pick up your feet, kid, before I do it for you.”

  Peter doesn’t respond. His jaw is just slack and he repeatedly denies what he’d just seen.

  The ground had been clean everywhere. He remembers that much. And then there had been the crisp outline of a large pool of blood. His aunt was on her back, sprawled out with a split lip and bruised, exposed torso. Her leg looked broken. Her chin had became the rock behind a waterfall of blood. Her neck was split wide open.

  In the elevator back…up, it starts to become evident that May’s throat had been slit, and that she had gotten herself into some pain…seeing as her stomach was bruised and her leg was twisted. He just hopes it all gets to be okay. It always does.

  Wade drapes an arm over his shoulders, keeping him pressed close to his side. He doesn’t process anything for a good while, and it’s not until a bright light is shone in his eyes that he feels the ground sink with his stomach and the world slam back into him. Next thing he knows, he’s in a helicopter meant purely for emergencies and transportation. He’s not dead or dying. He knows that much. Why is he here?

  “Where’s May,” he manages out, but it’s nothing beyond a murmur and the rotors slice it before it leaves his mouth. The nurse, or doctor, or whatever he is, checking him only frowns and leans in to see if he’d speak anymore—but Peter just disappoints him by staying quiet and staring down at the city underneath him.

  The scene replays in his head over and over again. He bursts in, his aunt is dead, he leaves; he bursts in, his aunt is dead, he leaves; he bursts in, his aunt is dead, he leaves. And it’s not until it fades to nothing but a simple memory he’s pretty sure he’d dreamt up that he realizes Tony is standing eye-to-eye with him. He’s sitting on a soft bed, well-fitted with comfortable sheets. The room is clean, and there’s clear signs that he’s not home anymore.

  “Peter,” Tony says. “Can you hear me?” He taps his ear with a questioning look to signal it—just in case Peter can’t.

  But he can, and he nods. He tries to speak, but his voice isn’t working and with each pound of his heavy heart, the thought _May is dead_ runs through his head. Honestly…it’s like Uncle Ben all over again. A tragic death, with a tinge of mystery behind it. There could be another element to it, and he’s not against it. Aunt May is too kind.

  Tony smiles a little. “Good,” he murmurs. “Can you tell me what you remember about the last few hours? You don’t have to if you don’t. But if you did, it’d help me immensely.”

  Peter blinks thoughtfully, looking down at his lap. What he remembers is mere flashes of being over New York City, and meeting a man of burn scars. He name is Wade. He had a gun. But he didn’t kill her. May’s throat was slit. “Is May okay?” he asks.

  Tony frowns, a slight of tears rimming his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak before he shuts it and gives it extra thought. Then, he answers. “I’m sorry, Peter. She’s dead,” he explains. “She’s been killed in the afternoon, just a few hours ago. Do you remember that?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “I’m…well, unofficially, I’m your guardian,” Tony states a bit awkwardly. “I just gotta sign some papers, and I know now may not be the best time, but I think it’s best before CPS comes in too deeply.”

  Peter nods again. “It’s fine,” he says amiably. Or, at least, as amiably as he can make himself sound. “I’m fine with it.”

  Tony pauses a little, clearly taken aback by his agreement. “O-oh, awesome. I…I actually didn’t expect that,” he murmurs half to himself. A slight smile grows. “Thank you, Peter. There’s a private lounge, kitchen and living room out there. If you need or want anything, just go out there. I guess. FRIDAY should be at your disposal.”

  Peter just blinks, his head slightly bobbing with a numb feeling in his jaw.

  “I’ll be at a call,” Tony says. “Don’t fight it alone, okay? I’m here for you.”

  He faintly smiles, and that’s when the billionaire philanthropist playboy leaves the room. Along with his surroundings, it’s empty…and devoid of warmth. He can’t help but wonder why he feels so surprised at that. Perhaps it’s because it feels so much more worse than Ben’s death. Or his parents’ death.

  “She was the last of your family, was she not?”

  Peter feels fear jump at his throat, and he revolts with its adrenalin pump.

  The man of ruby-velvet skin puts his hands up, dipping his head a little in surrender. “I apologize, Mr. Parker,” he says genuinely. His accent is smooth, and clearly British. But he’s definitely alien, and Peter isn’t sure why an alien would have a… _British_ accent of all things. “I did not mean to frighten you. I know you have had a long day. I just decided to come by and…see you. Meet you.”

  He stares, but nods in understanding. “Who’re you?”

  He smiles. “My name is Vision,” he replies. “I’m here to help you in many ways. How would you like me to…assist?”

  It’s a good question—sudden, but good, and Peter isn’t feeling any motivation.

  So he just shrugs, and smiles, and the conversations kicks off with a terribly apathetic and simple, “I dunno.”


	2. Young Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the support! i didnt expect the very first chapter to reach 900 views, which is record on this site for me with the chapter count. i appreciate the love, advice and corrections :)
> 
> the updates will likely be sporadic, im not gonna lie. i wrote this whole chapter in like four days after forgetting about ao3 and disappearing from all my social media sccounts for nineteenth time lmao
> 
> anyways, enjoy!
> 
> wc: 3.2k

While the weeks pass, the clouds get darker. Peter can't tell if it's his mentality or his emotions, but they're close enough that he doesn't care to diffrentiate. Perhaps he should be able to tell the difference. He knows he's in a spot of grief, and he also knows that it's starting to double up because Uncle Ben died only…a few months prior. He's the last of the Parker family, and he finds nothing but heartbreak where home is. Or was, now—at least that's how it is.

"Would you like some tea?"

Peter looks away from all the one-way windows that expose the outdoor activity. "What kind of tea?" he asks.

"Well, there's mint tea, lemon tea, lavender tea, green tea, rice tea, oolong—"

"Mint tea is fine," Peter states. Vision smiles, looking oddly apathetic despite his surprisingly well-tuned aptitude for emotion. He's been…around. Peter isn't sure if he's on some sort of suicide watch or if Vision is here to notify Tony or…anything. He doesn't know, but he can see why.

He won't lie to himself. He feels so incredibly lost without his loving aunt around. He's in a deep dark hole, and he doesn't like it there. He sees light. He knows he does. It's just so hard to really care for it because now he's in the hands of Tony Stark.

"Don't drink it right away," Vision advises. "It's still hot."

"Okay, thank you," he replies.

"How do you feel today?" he inquires. The accent is honestly the best. He can't help but be slightly fascinated by it. NYC isn't a difficult place to find diverse accents—it's just a bit more difficult to find richer and sexier accents.

He responds despite his depraved mood. "Fine," he says. He sips his steamy drink. "The tea is nice."

Vision smiles a little, but it disappears behind his red-skinned apathy. "Mr. Stark told me to hold off on this, but he said that the man with the burn scars wants to look after you."

"Like…a dad?"

"Oh, no! Of course not. He's unfit. I'd imagine him to be more like your weird uncle Al."

Peter feels an abyss. "My weird uncle Al died a few months ago," he murmurs sadly in reference to Ben.

It's easy to recognize the mental revolt in Vision. He messed up and he didn't realize it before. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean—it's not something I took into consideration—"

"It's okay. No one can fill Uncle Ben's shoes anyways," he points out. He takes another drink of the mint tea and looks up. "How does he mean to…take care of me?"

"I know you've noticed my presence is almost near-constant," Vision points out. "Presence is the best thing for grief. I'm…not completely available, with what's happening in the Avengers as of now. Neither is Mr. Stark. Mr. Wilson is completely willing to be here instead of me."

Peter smiles dryly. "Ah, you know, I wouldn't mind a guy like you around," he says comically.

"Why thank you," Vision responds with all practicality. "I thought it best to consult with you foremostly."

"Cool, okay," he half-mutters. "When will Mr. Wilson be here?"

"He actually hasn't left the front doorstep of this facility since the day you arrived," Vision explains.

Peter's eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. "That was, like…a week ago."

"Yes, and no one's letting him in. He's reckless but he cares deeply for you…so he's the better option. He also has nothing to do."

"Hm, he sounds like quite the character."

"Indeed."

Peter stares at the mint tea in the Christmas mug. "I'll finish my tea first," he says. "Then you can go be Vision."

The humanoid merely smiles.

* * *

Peter, when he gives thought to Wade's character, thinks of him to be a sarcastically dry-humored type of guy.

He isn't wrong. But he learns very quickly that he isn't totally right, either. In fact, Peter doesn't expect the clown-like introduction. It only lifts his mood to the bare minimum required to be social. Not to enjoy it thoroughly in any way, though, so it's not like his smiles were often in appearance.

"How ya doin', kiddo?"

Peter looks to the horrifically burned man. His skin almost looks pruny, if anything. "Fine," he replies. "Vision's tea is nice."

Wade raises an eyebrow. "Who, that Red Skull-lookin' fellow?" He boldly points to the guy.

That gets him a little. "Ha, yeah," he replies. He'd been thinking that, too. "He told me that you've been here since day one."

"Oh, yeah, definitely. I mean—man's gotta eat and piss and sh—poop, so. Y'know. There's that. I tried not to loiter," Wade says. "I'm not gonna lie, kiddo. Your dad doesn't like me all that much."

"You're still here though."

"Well, then, he's obviously been taking my dashing looks into consideration," he points out, grinning like he's a beauty guru. His hand brushes hair over his shoulder that is definitely not there. His humor drops fairly suddenly, though, with his next sentence. "Anyways, Tones wants me to look after you. Be there for you. Go with you…since Zendaya and that bald actor guy who played Ned aren't really all that included here. Yet. Me and you? We're…not the calvary, now that I think about it."

Peter raises his brows. "Huh?"

"Bad video game reference, sorry. How about you show me around, eh? I wouldn't mind a tour," Wade says. "Are there chimichangas, by any chance?"

"…I actually don't know. I guess we can go check," Peter says.

He turns into the building's direction, making way up to his sleeping quarters while pointing out some places where people work, don't work, train, learn, study and relax. Most of it is underground, but Peter lives in the upstairs portion with Vision as a neighbor. He doesn't know much else beyond that…but then again, he hasn't been here all that long. When they reach Peter's kitchen, a strange terminology because he's only at the scant age of fifteen, Wade instantly dives into the refrigerator. There isn't a whole lot beyond filtered water, some 7UP, iced tea and eggs. When there are no chimichangas found there, the freezer is the next victim. There's a whole legion of ice bags, icing packs and tap water ice cube trays. Underneath are corn dogs—and then there's the magic. Wade's voice makes a choir of happy sounds as he raises the box of frozen chimichangas up high.

Peter can only smile. It's not a very big one, but it's genuine. That's what's counting.

Later in the night, he takes a long ass bath. He's in the dark with only some colorful Christmas lights Tony had pulled out for decorations. They're always on—and they're bound for burnout in about a year. But Peter loves it too much to care, and money is no concern for the facility. Unless they went bankrupt. Regardless, he can hear talking. It's Wade, Tony and another guy he can't put his finger on. It's not Vision, though. He's, indefinitely, an American.

"He's a kid," the American is saying. "Let him be a kid."

"He's not acting like a kid, though," Tony says anxiously. "I can't…see a fifteen year old in him. I see me, when I lost my parents."

"Yeah, because he already lost his parents," Wade says. "And his uncle. And his aunt. His loss is piling up and this immature accord thing will be a weight he can't be having."

"I absolutely can not stand for those…accords," the American states. His voice dips with anger and frustration. "It's disrespectful."

"Sokovia and New York was even more _disrespectful_!" Tony suddenly yells. Peter flinches. Perhaps the aids are too good. He doesn't want to listen anymore. "Listen up, Mr. Entitled American—children are _dead_ because of these disasters!"

Mr. Entitled American goes quiet.

"We don't need another war. You don't, I don't."

"I'd be fine with a war," Wade chimes.

"Shut the hell up," Tony snaps. "I'll cut your balls off after every single regeneration until you can't have babies anymore."

"Okay, jeez…I'm sorry."

"Tony…" the American says softly and lovingly. "I love you, and I know we have to compensate for something to allow the Avengers to continue…but these accords…"

"Will help amend broken mothers and fathers. They will give reassurance to those who just can not stand us, because our war destroyed their home—their sense of _safety_ , Steve! It's gone."

"…I'm sorry."

"This is a bigger picture thing. It's political, and it's better."

"You wanna know what I think?" Wade butts in, again.

"No," the other duo snaps.

"It's one big con," he says regardlessly.

"The only benefit that comes out of this will be government-controlled mutants and a reassured society. It's not something I would agree to, because Steve is right, and at the same time, I'd be down to sign it…because Tony is right, too. I remember those tragedies like they were yesterday. They aren't some big conspiracy theory. They're disasters."

Tony and the American just go silent, and it's then and there in that conversation that Peter decides to take out his hearing aids. He drains the water, and as soon as the drain is open, he dries off with a somber expression. Because he knows what accords they're talking about, and he can smell a disaster a mile away.

The next morning, Tony can be found asleep on the couch. A blonde man, easily recognizable now that Peter has seen him, has Tony's head on his lap. His bright blue eyes gravitate almost instantaneously as Peter enters the general living-dining room. His expression has been tense, and there are dark circles under his eyes, but his features soften up when he notices that it's him entering the room.

Wade is in the kitchen opening the heavenly chimichangas, looking happy underneath his dark hood. There's a pan on the stove and a plate of scrambled eggs next to it. Regardless of whose ever it belongs to, it's his now. He mindlessly takes it and starts to eat it. The world is quiet. It's just him and the eggs—which leaves him feeling a bit more content than usual.

Even though the night had been evidently long for everyone else, he feels well-rested and ready to live life. He wants to go back to school and see MJ and Ned and be made fun of by Flash and laugh with the club and get back into Robotics Club and band. He's going to be a junior next school year—he didn't quit too late. He already feels rusty on his Spanish…

Someone taps his shoulder and he jumps a little. Tony, with an over-tired expression, raises his brows.

 _Where are your ears?_ he signs.

Peter blinks stupidly. "I forgot, sorry," he says. He tries his best not to sound too loud. He isn't overly eager to get them. He wouldn't mind going a morning without hearing. He did it all the time with May. Despite that, he can read lips. He isn't super good at it, but it's better than nothing. He's staring at Steve Rogers specifically. He grew up idolizing the captain. His face is only even because he's focused on the eggs but his cheeks are a bit rosy.

"What did you say to him?" Steve is asking.

"He doesn't have his hearing aids in," Tony says. "Oh, I guess I didn't mention that—he's completely deaf."

"You know, you only mentioned him a few hours after you adopted him, and I just met him," Steve points out. "We're dating, Tony, and now you've gotta son."

"Technically, since we're together, he could be our son," Tony points out. Steve goes a bit red in the face, ears and neck. "I know you wouldn't mind a son, deaf or not."

Steve hums. "You should've told me sooner. I'd have learned sign language for him," he says. He turns to Peter and smiles charmingly. "Hi, I'm Steve."

Peter vaguely smiles back. "I'm Peter," he replies. He looks to Tony and signs, "I'm going to get dressed and stuff."

Tony only nods and takes his empty plate.

Steve looks back to him. "He's nice."

"He's Spiderman."

"Spiderman is a deaf fourteen year old?"

"Fifteen, and yes."

Steve chuckles. "That explains why he's got those muscles."

Peter hears the last part of that conversation as he turns his aids on. He can't help but smile a little. His extra sensors, also known as his spidey senses, were far stronger in other ares that were not his hearing.

His transformation didn't…cure an ounce of his deafness, and thus, he can't be Spiderman without aids. The phenomenom fixed his lack of 20/20 vision. He isn't wearing glasses anymore.

Tony and Steve are talking in the kitchen. Wade is enjoying his own mini-stack of steaming chimichangas. His feet are propped up.

"Mornin', kiddo," Wade says. "You wanna go somewhere today?"

Peter doesn't expect that. "Um…su—"

"No," Tony interrupts. "Not today."

Peter feels a bit heavier with sadness. "What, why?"

Tony smiles. "I have a surprise for you," he says. "I wasn't sure when to give it to you, but I wanted to make sure you had it before you left to go anywhere."

"What is it?" he asks, feeling far more curious than before.

"Walk with me," Tony says. "It won't take long. I know you'll love it."

Peter only nods and takes to following the billionaire. He can only glance back to Steve and Wade, who are both as confused as he.

"You know, you never told me about Steve," Peter mentions when they're in the hallways.

Tony's cheeks get a bit rosy. "Um, well…you know. Things happen all the time, and this is one of them."

"Hm, cool," Peter murmurs. "Is that why you and Ms. Potts broke up?"

"Huh? Oh, no, definitely not. That's something else entirely different."

"I'm sure."

Tony rolls his eyes, but he doesn't say anything to that. Instead, he stops at a door and opens it up to reveal a whole new room. It's empty, and its size had been a deception from the outside. It'd looked like a mere cleaning closet, but no. It's basically a whole new world. There are cool mannequins, all on their own individual sticks, but they're either empty or covered up by a sheet. Except for one.

"I know what it's like to lose people and want to be all about revenge and relieving yourself of some unbearable, invisible weight you can't even begin to explain," Tony says. "I…well, I'm not even sure if I should be giving this to you. I guess sooner is better than later, but it's well-known that I'm not always correct."

Peter's eyes widen when he realizes that he's getting a new suit. From Tony Stark, no less. "That's…that's mine?" he asks, feeling shook to the core. The suit looks like it came straight out of a fucking action movie. There's red, and blue, and it looks so much more advanced than his original suit. "Wow…"

He moves toward the beauty, but Tony stops him. "No, it's mine, and you're borrowing it," he corrects. "It's a burden to be a superhero, kid. A good man with a good heart can never be a good hero."

"That doesn't sound right," Peter says. Because what's a good hero without a good heart?

"Lots of bad things will happen. You can't save everyone," Tony states. "You may feel obligated to, but you're barely fifteen. You're grieving, and you're going to struggle more than ever."

Peter starts feeling some gross, black tar consuming him. Breathing becomes a bit more difficult, and that bright red is suddenly a bit dimmer. His family is dead and gone. No parents, no more aunts and uncles. He's always been in a lack of siblings and cousins, and he can't help but feel lost.

He's in the tunnel again.

Tony isn't blind to this. He wraps his arm around his adoptive son, pulling him close and giving comfort where it's needed and deserved. Peter doesn't hesitate to hug him back, burying his face into his chest with sadness leaking from his eyes. Oddly enough, it feels amazing despite the high tide of negative emotions. It's probably the first time he's hugged anyone since Aunt May's unexpected timing.

* * *

Peter is sent back to his little home with his Spidey-case, looking heavy and feeling light. He isn't feeble in anyway. Steve had left a little while ago, and Wade is in the kitchen chugging water. Peter can't help but feel a bit worried, because he saw five chimichangas on that plate.

"Oh, hey—kiddo!" Wade says breathlessly. He burps loudly. "You lookin'…you lookin' a bit pale! Wassup?"

Peter's face breaks into a new grin. "Tony gave me a new, advanced suit," he says. Nothing goes without consequences is what he got from all of that, coming with a battle of grief and everything.

"Awesome," Wade says. "Man, I wish I had cool stuff. All I can do is cut and shoot people. Some of them aren't even bad…"

Peter's brow raises in question.

"I used to be a hitman."

"Ah…" No wonder Tony is, supposedly, not his best friend.

"Anyways, do you wanna go somewhere? Leaving would be good," he says.

"Leaving", to Peter, sounds more like…travelling for a long time. Especially with how Wade is saying those things, but they've had little interaction. Peter can't help but feel doubtful that that's the case. It just doesn't feel right to ignore it. "I dunno," he says. "I kinda wanna just…finish the school year."

"It's too dangerous," Wade suddenly says.

"What? Why?"

"I know it's a sensitive subject, but…your aunt was murdered because of her connection to you. That's easy to tell, considering my trail."

"…Your trail?"

"I came with a gun cocked, loaded and ready to kill because I knew that your family was in danger." Wade looks a bit downed. "Just not soon enough—and I'm sorry for that, really! I know that your friends are safe. I just don't know if they will be after you see them."

Peter's shoulders suddenly hurt. "I'm going to my room," he says. "I'll think about places to go." He doesn't wait for any kind of response after that.

He doesn't mind much on the whole "leaving" thing…he feels a bit more free. It'd been done in one of the most tragic ways possible, though, so it feels more like a toxic freedom. He just doesn't know how to take it. He doesn't know many adopted people. He knows that there are plenty of adopted people in his school, but not…people he knows. The number isn't widespread, but it's not like it needs to be. Peter has always been content with his amount of friends.

He just needed Ned. Now he doesn't know who he needs.

The next morning, Wade is eating another five chimichangas. Tony and Steve aren't here. But Peter walks into the living room with purpose in his step.

Wade looks at him curiously. "You look like you made a life decision," he says.

Peter smiles only a little. "I've decided on where to go," he says.

"Yeah, okay. Where?"

"New York City."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its not a slow burn i swear


	3. The Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the start of a civil war arc :^) i wanted this to be a little bit later but my plans just didnt work out so this is the result.
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> wc: 5.2k

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Why New York City?” Tony is asking. “Why not…some place else? Like…say, Georgia? Or Rhode Island. Or Miami…

Peter shrugs, folding some shirts up and pushing them into his suitcase. He didn’t have a whole lot from home. Tony bought him things, and that’s what has been making up his room. They were nice clothes, and they were also his style, but he misses home. He misses May. “I miss it.”

“You have to be careful, Peter. I know you know the circumstances of May’s death enough,” Tony says. “I would prefer it if you stayed.”

Peter sighs. “I know,” he says a bit stiffly. “I…also know about the Accords, and the conflicts they’re bringing.”

Tony goes solemnly quiet. If Peter could touch the emotion in the air, he’d compare it to hard, fake American butter in one of those all-in-one popcorn packages a concession stand would use. “I can see it happening,” he half-mutters.

“See what happening?”

“A war.” Peter turns to look at Tony. There’s painful realization in his eyes, and fear of failure. Peter has seen it before. It’s a consistent expression he’s had to face eye-to-eye. It’s a tiring thing, but it’s to the point of where he can recognize that remorse a mile away. “I didn’t mean that to scare you, I’m sorry. It’s just there’s this feeling I keep getting from Steve. He knows something.”

“You’ve got some skills, don't cha, kiddo?”

“It’s just instinct. Mom and dad could never hide anything unless it was out of my box,” Peter says. “May and Ben were better at it. You’re super bad, and Steve can almost hold his own.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever. He’s better at almost everything.”

Peter couldn’t help but turn away and return to packing. Steve is a great man, but he rubs Peter the wrong way in some cases and these Accords just so happens to be one of them. Whether or not he’s in deep with Tony has an uncertain affect. Peter’s seen and read and heard enough to know the difference between a psychopath and a devoted man. America has a few ten million of those. Steve is devoted. He’s what one might call an “original” American. Blond, white, blue-eyed, muscular, patriotic…hates war, but wouldn’t mind initiating it if it meant something bigger could be accomplished…

“Whatever you’re onto, I’m sure it’ll turn out to be fine,” Tony says. “Focus on whatever you need to heal up, okay? Don’t leave the city without me knowing. Please. I’d like a call a day, too, and updates on what your day has consisted of—”

Peter just turns around and smiles. “I’ll be in NYC, with Wade, helping old ladies who’ll buy me churros,” he says. He walks up to Tony and hugs him. His smile fades and he squeezes tight. Letting go is too hard, and Tony nearly has to push him away to allow some breathing room.

“I trust you enough, but not enough-enough. You know?”

“Typical dad stuff,” Peter remarks.

“Correct-o. I’ll be dropping by as often as possible until you get back here.”

Peter shrugs. “Sure. You can bring me cool stuff, right?”

“Yes, no, maybe so. Depends on how good you’ll be.” Tony pats his head and it’s the queue to let go. “You’ve got that cool spider suit with you, right? That awesome suitcase?”

He grins. “Yup!”

“Wear it proud, kiddo. Starks always show off.”

Peter knows that almost too well.

* * *

The car is a Mustang convertible. Peter likes it, and it makes him look extra cool with the aviators Tony gave him moments before Wade had sped off. It’s just a bright blue color. It makes them pop. Wade isn’t for it because of his burns—“too unattractive,” he’d complained. Peter isn’t one to care for it, and Tony laughs at Deadpool’s grumpiness. He’s about that family life, with a Honda Civic or a minivan or an SUV.

The plate says “SPIDER15”. Peter couldn’t help but feel a bit more of a show-off.

“So,” Wade says. “We’re drawing some lines.”

“I wanna go to my apartment,” Peter blurts.

“Here’s the thing. That’s a line we can’t cross.” Wade side-glances his godson. It’s a self-granted title, if he’s honest. He knew Tony would mind but he’s Wade Wilson, AKA Deadpool. Deadpool doesn’t give a fuck. “If we cross it, we’re not exactly safe. Yeah?”

“You’re keeping me in the dark. Let me see.”

“Whatever, kid. You can choose between safety and death to your friends,” Wade says. “Protect them, okay? We gotta wait this out, or shoot the danger in the face before it can do anything.”

Peter sighs almost sadly. “Okay, then. What’s this danger?” he asks. He does his best to resist emphasizing that it killed his loving aunt. No one needs that right now.

“It’s not fake mutants,” he says. “It’s genetic transferring.”

“I asked for an explanation, not a frikin’ riddle,” Peter mutters.

Wade rolls his eyes. “I was getting there!” he points out. “There’s this guy out there. I don’t know who the hell he is, but he’s good at what he does. And he’s been doing it since the great big alien invasion.”

“What’s so special about this guy? Is he the one who’s transferring genes?”

“You know, in order to explain why you shouldn’t cross certain lines, I have to actually tell you,” Wade says dryly. “This means not interrupting.” When Peter opens his mouth again, Wade puts a finger up as a means of silence that works well enough. The point gets across to him. “Anyways, it’s weird, and it’s ancient, and it’s resurfacing. So. You know. Bad stuff’s gonna happen, but no one will really notice because it’s supposed to be you who defeats this guy. He’s in the original comic books, and he’s a classic villain.”

“So he sits in an evil throne?” Peter asks.

“Yes! I think. It’d be cool if he does. Anyways! He’s a scary guy. You can’t find him easily. Not in the human way, at least."

"…Um," Peter murmurs in confusian. The way Wade looks out to the open highway road is strange. It shows a certain emotional side that isn't snarky, and Peter stares as deeply as he can in the moment because—in the little time he's known Wade Wilson—he can infer that this man is nothing but insanity and comedy.

Wade suddenly smiles, though. "Hey, you know what? Jeff Dunham is coming to New York sometime soon. Wanna go see him? Funny guy, really."

At that, Peter looks away. That's all he's gonna get from Wade for today. Maybe he'll spill the tea on accident. Or he might not. Peter isn't patient, and he wants the world to know that…well, maybe not the world. But it's close enough.

* * *

Tony gave Wade a card. A card with a spending cap, spending tracker and geographical tracker along with a listening device. Supposedly, it's a baby monitor. A really advanced one. Also, supposedly, it has Friday on it. Peter can only speculate though. Wade isn't gonna let up the card unless he's getting off with a woman. He only knows that because the first night they're in a luxurious hotel that can see the sparkling stars of New York City, a dark-haired woman trotts in ready for Wade. Peter isn't used to it.

At first, he thought she was a stripper but she's actually Wade's girlfriend who was a sex worker. That's how they met and, personally, Peter stopped listening halfway through. His eye is caught by the twinkles of avenues and streets. He's lost a lot of things; his hearing, his parents, and his aunt and uncle. What's next is the question he dreads answering—or getting an answer to.

The woman sits very close to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and making him lean in. She's a woman of soft touch, heart-warming in a painful mother hen way. Peter's chest aches with emotion and the earbuds that are plugged into his neat, new aids get turned up a notch. Silence can never flush him from his own head.

The instant she puts her cheek on top of his head, tears break free. Peter just accepts the comfort. He wants it and needs it. Wade doesn't join, though. He pops a cheap beer, ruffles his hair sentimentally, and sits across from them. His face is set in stone, untouched by emotion. His eyes give away the things he hides, though.

Peter doesn't know what it is, though, and he's too deep in his grief to really care. He just falls asleep on the woman whose name he doesn't know, sniffing and shaking and listening to Bastille.

* * *

Peter wakes up from a good dream. Everyone is there, happy, and they're all having a picnic. He only blinked the sleep out of his eyes to forget.

Mr. and Mrs. Wilson are dead asleep on the couch. The sky is greyed with the dark night being touched by the spring dawn.

Peter stops his music and sits up, doing his best not to disturb Wade's sweet lady. He grabs his phone and scrolls through his notifications. Text message, Snapchat, Instagram, WhatsApp, Kik, Facebook Messenger—even Tumblr and Twitter. They all have notifications from Ned and a girl named Mary-Jane. Most of her usernames are related to 420. Her friends call her MJ.

A lot of the things sent are paragraphs of what he's missed at MSHS, or how they want him to talk and connect and come back to school and not drop out and ace the upcoming finals.

Peter wants that, but he doesn't feel like he can…keep it. He feels lucky enough to have his friends, though. Thank god for friends.

He spends the morning in his suit, walking on all the surfaces and texting people. Ned even got a girl named Gwen in on getting him to talk to his friends, and he's even gotten messages from Liz. All the words in the bubbles make his heart flutter. It doesn't dim his hell-fire vengeance.

For a while, he considered calling Tony. But he tells himself no. Tony is shouldering enough right now, and Peter knows that it'll get so much more worse. It's tickling his spidey senses, and those never deceive him.

After dabbling on whether or not he should eat breakfast, he slips on his mask and blatantly leaves. The cool morning air is a relief to the tension, and he decides to explore for a bit. A old woman named Sherry lost her daughter's dog. Peter found the little pup stuck underneath a fence in a generic and nearby alleyway. The fence suffers, and Sherry gives him a hug when the puppy is returned. The next bit of trouble comes from a mugger, and then a car thief, and then he ran into an early morning heist at a corner store.He takes a break after that to enjoy the free sandwich and Dr. Pepper the owner had given him out of gratitude. Peter perches himself on a tall building to watch the New York day pass by. The clear sun itself makes him feel a peace.

Scrolling through Twitter after fifteen minutes makes him a bit sad—there's a lot of conflict on his TL from accounts who've managed to get a few hundred thousand favorites and retweets on controversies surrounding the Avengers and the Accords. Peter quickly decides to block the more toxic accounts, and right as he moves to block probably the thirtieth one, Tony's caller ID pops up. That feeling that tickles his spidey senses returns.

Regardless, he answers. "Hello, Mr. Stark?"

Tony chuckles back in greeting. _"You're still calling me that? Tony is fine, now, kid,"_ he says warm-heartedly. Despite the tone of his voice, Peter can tell that he's exhausted and beat up in more ways than one.

"Okay." Peter's voice only piques a little in response to that. "So, what's up? You sound like you've pulled an all-nighter." He sips the soda.

 _"It's all in good will."_ There's deception in Tony's words. _"I'm…just calling to check in on you. How has the city been? Anything to report?"_

"Well…I helped an old woman today. She lost her daughter's puppy and so I got it back," he says. "I also stopped some thieves. A hungover guy tried to rob a store today, and I stopped him and so now there's one less idiot on the streets." He giggles a little. "I made him slip on nacho cheese."

Tony laughs with him. He sounds so tired. _"That's great. I'm glad you're out and about again."_

"Yeah. I got a free lunch from that, so it's been an awesome day so far," Peter says. He traces the soda lid thoughtfully. "What about you? I've been gone for, like, a day."

 _"Oh. Well…I partially called because I know you know a lot more than you probably should. Like the Accords, and who agrees and disagrees…stuff like that,"_ Tony says. _"You also know the deal between me and Steve and how this is all going down."_

"Is this your way of telling me you guys, like, broke up or something?" Peter asks.

 _"Um…I actually am not sure on our status but I wouldn't put it under good terms,"_ Tony answers honestly. _"It's not looking good either."_

"Okay…what happened?"

Tony sighs. _"Well. To put it bluntly, Steve took his old, dead best friend and ran away in the name of going against the Accords. I don't agree with him. It's a political death trap for him and those who agree."_

"Yeah. Do what you gotta do to help them, right?" Peter murmurs. "I can help you, too. I definitely wouldn't mind."

 _"If I do, and I'm honestly hoping I don't, I will. Okay? I love you, kiddo. Stay safe. I gotta go."_ Tony, in a hurry, hangs up.

Peter nearly deflates. "Damn," he mutters. He feels a slight of regret offering his help, because now he can't investigate May's murder or see his friends. He wants them and himself out of danger, but he wants to find out who'd murder an innocent woman, why Deadpool is after it and how the hell Peter himself is connected. There are too many questions, not enough answers, and he's being left out of the hoop…as usual. He'll get answers himself if he has to.

He quickly finishes his food and throws away his trash, leaping off into the direction of the luxurious hotel. Wade and his girl are almost definitely probably worried by now. All the same, he's not counting on it.

* * *

"Ey! Yo, Parker—there you are!" Wade cries. Peter grimaces as he tucks himself through the bathroom window. He clutches Peter's shoulders, genuinely relieved that he's returned. "Vanessa nearly murdered me! Where the hell did you go? No calls, no texts, not even a corny note you almost originally were gonna leave for me?"

Peter shrugs and pulls his mask off. "I just went to eat," he says. "And no, I didn't go to school or home. I was too busy saving puppies and helping old people."

Wade squeezes him nearly to death. "I don't think I've been more scared of Vanessa before…" he says, practically shaking. Internally, Peter sighs. He's an actual drama queen. "Not since I nearly lost my favorite Hello Kitty charm. That horrified me almost as much as this little shenanigan of yours did!"

Peter just rolls his eyes, but he does return the hug. He probably should've left a note or texted him at some point—but at the same time, Peter isn't sure if Wade even has a phone. "Sorry," Peter murmurs.

Wade steps off and waves the whole thing away. "Pft, it's all good," he says. "I'll just ring up Vanessa and she can worry about you more."

So Vanessa is his girlfriend's name. "Is she coming with us on our trip?" Peter asks.

"No, she has work and stuff," he says. "I mean…I can definitely ask but I don't really want her to come along."

Peter is geuinely confused by that. "Why not? She's your girlfriend."

"Yeah, but she can die a lot easier," Wade points out. He swings his fingers between himself and Peter. "We can not. You've got super awesome spidey powers, I've got super healing and an unbeatable witt. She has a bite and that's it."

"Oh…" is all he says to that. "Okay. Well, Steve has gone rogue. Mr. S—um…Tony…is trying to get everything back together…"

"What, so we're going back up-state again? That's kind of a shitty trip," Wade says.

Peter shrugs and pushes the button on his suit that loosens it, grabbing his backpack and slipping on a long-sleeved shirt and cargo shorts quickly. "I honestly don't care," he mutters. "I actually wanna help, you know? I don't really want my family gone. Not again."

Peter watches a certain emotion cross Wade's face, but it dissolves right as he nods in understanding. "Coolio. Sounds like an amazing and emotionally invested adventure," he says dryly. "When do you want to leave?"

"…To be honest, I hadn't thought that far…" he murmurs. "I just decided that I wanted to help, like, fifteen minutes ago…"

"Alright," Wade says. "You should try to catch a nap, kiddo. You look like shit. Also, Vanessa is on her way up. Make sure you don't bullshit anything. Her radar for that stuff is out of this world."

Peter just smiles and nods as he takes the large and comfortable couch that faces the view. The skyline is absolutely gorgeous and clear today. His chest aches at that, though. Aunt May would've loved to go to Central Park today with him.

Time passes relatively easy after that thought. Vanessa does worry, just as Wade had said she would, and mothers him while also trying her best to not intrude. Peter doesn't mind the company at first, but after a little while he just curls into his own little shell with headphones and social media. Vanessa and Wade kinda just disappear, too, and while Peter feels a bit anxious at that, he knows they can handle themselves.

He ignores the news plaguing social media. He already knows what it's all about.

* * *

Peter wakes up when the outside is dark. The TV is on, and so is the news. Sluggishly, he takes notice of the time. It's almost midnight. Vanessa is nowhere to be seen, but Wade is eating a buttload of fancy, overpriced hotel foods.

 _Good morning, sunshine,_ Wade signs. Peter makes a grumbling sound and buries his head back into the pillow. He does pull the nice headphones out, though, and he's got fair reasons to regret it seconds later.

"…and now, with the recent event of Captain America becoming a potential international criminal with the addition of other members from the Avengers, debates of all spectrums are escalating," the news anchor is saying. She's got that "anchor tone" he's always found to be a bit strange. "Social media posts have been blowing up—and everyone has different opinions. Some more enthusiastic groups have been very loud with their thoughts on Tony Stark, going as far as threatening to kill or harm them. These groups a…"

At that point, Peter tunes her out. He stretches the grogginess out of his system, cracking his back as he does so. It takes a second to find his phone, but as soon as he finds it, he calls Tony.

It almost rings once. _"Oh—thank god. Peter? Are you okay?"_ Tony sounds shaken to tears.

"What? Yeah—yeah, I'm fine," he says. "I saw the news. How are you?"

 _"Um…I'm working on it,"_ Tony states. His voice is stronger this time. _"Come on upstate, okay? Pack everything and come back right now."_

"Why, did something happen?" Peter asks.

_"I'll tell you more about it when you get here. And hurry! Please. Okay?"_

"O-okay," he replies, and that's all Tony is looking for. He abruptly hangs up. Peter feels a bit nervous. In between 10:00 PM and 10:12 PM, Tony had called him fifteen times and texted him eight. There's four voicemails, too, and in each one Peter hears nothing but a father having an anxiety attack. He curls up into his blanket and falls back onto the pillow. Those voicemails are exactly how Uncle Ben sounded.

Wade taps his shoulder. "Hey, kiddo. You hungry?" he asks. Peter shakes his head. "Who'd you call?"

"Tony," he replies. "I wanted to see how he was."

"And?"

Peter almost takes a second too long to answer, staring at the news lady as she continues to talk. "…he wants us back in the facility," he says with a muddled tone. "It seems pretty bad, to be honest. He called me way too many times and that was two hours ago…"

Wade hums, sounding disappointed. "Alrighty, then, I'll go get everything and we'll check out."

Peter just nods. Packing goes fairly quick. There isn't a whole lot. Peter is snoozing in the hallway by the time Wade finishes, though. He took too long. Soon enough, they're back in the car zooming through the lively New York back up to the new, unfinished Avengers facility.

Peter arrives back in his room only to find Tony constantly pacing around in the living room. He looks horrific, like he'd crawled out of a grave or something.

"Tony," Peter says. He tries to add on to it, but Tony reacts too fast. Luckily, Spiderman is faster. He ducks when a blast comes his way, aiming squarely for his face. It hits the wall instead. "Wow! What the hell—"

He's interrupted by a hug.

Everything happens rather fast. Peter had just entered the room, and in quite literal seconds, he's hugging.

"Oh, thank god you're okay," he says. Peter feels his insides slowly becoming a bunch of pancakes.

"Um…could you, like, loosen your grip? I feel like I'm roadkill right now," he manages to gasp. Tony chuckles a little and does let go of the hug, but he keeps his hands on Peter's shoulders. "What happened? Why are you so spooked?"

Tony's lips become thin and his face pinches so automatically as he thinks. Peter has seen those faces before. He knows it so well, because when he's not hearing, he's watching. "Oh…it's nothing big," he says almost unevenly. "Steve is just…going off on his own. He's not stopping. I know he's not."

"You guys broke up, too, didn't you?" Peter asks. "Or the closest you could get."

"I honestly just don't understand," Tony mutters. He stops there and sighs. There's obviously a lot on his chest. Peter genuinely wants him to tell all about his relationship drama—but it'd feel wrong. He grew up in a household where there was always a clear line between adult and child and children can never dabble with the adults' situations. He hates that now. "Do you want to see him? Before anything else explodes?"

"Um…should I put my suit on, Mr. Stark?"

Tony looks thoughtful. "…Yeah, sure. Why not? I'll bring mine, too. Or some of it at least."

Peter only nods at that. He dashes off to his room with a slight skip to his step. By all means this isn't exciting in any sort of positive way. It's just…something new. Why can't all these new things be happy for once?

* * *

Peter felt as if he were in the same room as the US congress the whole time he's in that little office space. There's so much awkward tension. It's comparable to a wedgie.

Wade is left to his own vices. Peter isn't mindful of it, but he knows that the guy is ridiculous. He's not expecting anything civil. Regardless, the mini trip is nothing short of eventful—beyond the awkward tension, of course. Peter met the newly crowned king of Wakanda.

"Now, what in the world does a young boy like you have to do with such a political mess like this?"

Peter is extremely confused by the accent. Yes, he knows that this is very diplomatic. And while Queens has its diversity, his ears hear too much or not enough. But it's definitely not western. He turns around. The man is black, with a well-looked after posture. One could easily tell that he has high but humble standards—in addition to that, Peter can sense a heart of good. "Um?"

"I know a minor when I see one," he says. He smiles kindly. "I am T'Challa. Who are you?"

"Um…I-I'm Peter," he stutters, having heard and read about the name…he's the crowned prince of Wakanda.

T'Challa smiles again at his bafflement. "I saw you come in with Tony Stark. Are you his assistant of some sort?"

Peter shrugs. "I guess you could call him my mentor," he says. Dad didn't click just yet.

"Then why are you out here?" he inquires. "Did he find this feud to be personally between himself and Captain America?"

Peter frowns a little. "It's too public to be personal," he states. "It's just uncomfortable in there right now. They're working out their relationship drama."

"Let us hope it ends well," T'Challa says. Both of their eyes glue to the office space, but lords above Peter had to look away. There were ten different kinds of tension in there right now and he's not interested in literally tasting it via sight. "What does Stark mentor you in?"

"Uh, well, it's—complex?" Peter tries. "No, it's not. I'm just learning from him, you know? Like…an intern, I guess. I dunno…"

T'Challa folds his fingers and nods. "It sounds very complex, indeed," he says with a tone of sarcasm.

Peter chuckles and awkwardly scratches the back of his head. "Yeah…he, uh, recently adopted me, too, so it is…" he murmurs. He regrets talking now. Why does the king have to be interested in a conversation with him of all people?

T'Challa is genuinely surprised by that. "So, you're his son?" he asks.

"…Yeah." Now it's socially official. He just told someone.

"That is…surprising. He doesn't seem much like the fatherly type," he says. "Might I ask why he adopted you?"

Blatantly, Peter answers. "No." He bites his tongue after that. His tone was sharper than intended. "I'm sorry—"

T'Challa raises his hand, and that cuts Peter off like a guillotine would a head. "It's okay, Peter," he says benevolently. "Just inquisitive talk. If you don't want to share, you mustn't feel entitled to."

Peter just nods numbly and looks over his shoulder back to Tony and Steve. They're glaring each other down and biting back and forth.

"I myself lost my father recently," he goes on.

Peter looks at him. "I'm sorry," he says sympathetically.

"It's not your fault." And that's that. Their attention is somewhat abruptly taken from the present conversation. Steve is leaving, and it's not all that quiet.

Last Peter had looked, they'd been discussing the Accords and how it'll be anti-free-will but positive. Peter honestly doesn't like the Accords. He's always seen the Avengers as the emergency call, and nowadays they're seeking and causing danger. It's really no wonder that these Accords are a thing now.

As Peter is watching Steve sulk in an office, studying his body language, his phone goes off. It's a text from Wade. He can't answer it, though. A worker gives him a sharp eye. He's seen it on a teacher's face thousands of times. It yells at him to turn off his phone in the very least.

He does.

After Tony and Steve finish butting heads, nothing really happens. T'Challa minds his own business after that last sentence, and Peter puts his head down on the table. He sleeps.

And then he's abruptly shaken awake. The woman who did it is a redhead—and when the sleep escapes his eyes, he can recognize Black Widow.

"Get up, kid, we need to leave," she says, and it's practically an order. "The Winter Soldier is loose. Stark wants to get your somewhere safe ASAP."

Peter dumbly stands on his feet. "What? No, I came to help…" he manages. The lights are red and flashing and he can practically taste the panic now.

Natasha Romanoff eyes him sternly. "I'd rather you be safe," she says. "So would Tony and Steve. You know I'm right. Now let's go."

Peter sighs in slight defeat. She is. So they leave, and they leave as fast as they can without setting off alarms. He'd lost track of T'Challa and workers and Tony a long time ago. He should've sensed the danger. Why didn't he?

They reach the main lobby. Soldiers are gone, guarding the outside and this feels like the wrong way.

"We need to go somewhere else," Peter says ominously, but Natasha has no time to respond.

The Winter Soldier takes action. He jumps into the air from above Peter and Natasha, landing in between the two. They both dodge, Peter leaping backwards onto the wall. He sticks to it like glue, pulling his suit's mask and gloves on.

An interface turns on. It's already starting to calculate what he needs to know, and as Natasha starts to reign her infamous hellfire of a fight onto James Barnes, Peter assists. He closes Barnes' fists, sticking a web to the back of his head and yanking it far enough back for the Black Widow to land a few punches to his face.

He touches another button on his web shooter, and it automatically zaps the Winter Soldier. Barnes is screaming bloody murder at that point, using his metal arm to yank Peter from the wall. His vision becomes white as a punch lands right over his eyes.

Natasha jumps and hooks her legs around Barnes' neck, slamming her elbow into his head repeatedly until she's thrown onto the ground. Peter can already tell that she's gonna wake up with a bad concussion. That fall hit her hard.

It leaves the Spiderman wide open to the assassin. He's quick to pull out a hand gun, likely picked up earlier, and he starts to shoot at Peter.

Peter dodges as quick as his body can enable him. He can see each bullet cut through the air, and hear it every time it slices past him. He shoots two more webs, hitting Barnes' ankles and pulls as hard as he can. The next thing that's shot is the gun, and Peter makes sure it goes as far back behind him as it can go.

"You'll regret that," Bucky grounds out. He gets back up with speed, and the next thing Peter knows, he's throwing punches.

That's honestly one of his weaknesses. He needs to learn some solid hand-to-hand combat. So he just dodges.

Eventually, he gets distracted by something out of the corner of his eye—and Bucky takes that chance to try and land a punch with his metal arm. Peter catches it with unwarranted ease.

"What the—" Peter looks at his arm with surprise and admiration. It's obviously no mechanical joke. "Dude! This arm is awesome! Where'd you cop this?"

The look on Bucky's face is priceless, but it's all interrupted when a knife is pulled.

It hits him right where it'd be most dangerous—dead in the center of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment what you think! feedback is always appreciated :^)


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